On the shores of the Somme River
by Thia017
Summary: A man narrates a part of his sad life.


**On the shores of the Somme River.**

Memories flood my mind; frantically, horrifyingly; leaving me always with this terrible sensation of grief, shortness of breath and despair. They come to me without warning, uninvited; attracted by sounds, colors and smells. Never expected, nor desired; but there they are, like a few seconds ago; lurking on those few moments of peace that I have left.

Why did I ever have to wish to be a hero? Why couldn't I settle with the idea of just being me? Why did I let myself be destroyed by a war that was not even mine? Why?

My brother and my friends believe me dead, and I prefer to remain so. The man they knew and loved does no longer belong in this body. He vanished, not the day when ardent pieces of lead crossed my body and made me fall from the heavens. No, he disappeared a rare July morning nearby the Somme River. He died alongside with other thousands of soldiers, who were trying to defend their beliefs, but above all, he died when he felt himself unable to help innocents who had nothing to do with that battle; he died trying unsuccessfully to save those who had helped him survive.

My beautiful wings of steel crashed against the ground. Life was eluding me through tiny holes in my chest. My blood was stopping its run through my body. Then, she found me; against everything she had been asked to do, she ran towards when she saw me fall. Her brothers -reluctant both of them-, came also and tried to drag her away, leaving me where I was, badly wounded, dying; but she refused to do so. Even being so smitten, I smiled, impressed by the power coming out of that little body of hers. The men argued among themselves and then agreed to help me. I was taken off the plane and into the old, huge house that was their refuge. Cécile, stood by my side until I was able to hold myself on my feet again. She took care of me, fed me, healed me; she was so patient, and even taught me her language. But when she needed me the most, I was not able to pay her every effort.

Of that old and huge house only ruins remain; of my saviors only memories. Sometimes I wander around these remains like a ghost, listening to the creaking of the wood under my feet, filling my hands with the ashes of the crumbling walls. Listening to the silent whispers of the wind, asking me to close my eyes, saying that a time will come when the confidence that once I trusted myself with, will return, but then, my mind screams with Cécile's voice, which is also the voice of other hundreds.

The bombers began to drop their load a few weeks before the battle. They were preparing the ground and I knew it; I told everyone what was about to happen, I begged them to go away, but none was willing to leave behind the place where they had grown. It was impossible for me to convince them. I wanted to go alone. I knew what the outcome will be, and I was so afraid. But they -or perhaps only she- had been my strength. No. I could not go without them.

I helped by putting reinforcements where they were necessary. I looked with them for food. And when the bombs began to fall closer, I pretended to be brave. Cécile's terrified gaze would find me always smiling, it helped her calm down a bit; she would then approach to me, hold my hand, rest her head upon my chest and stop trembling, at least for a little while. The following days were terrible; we were running out of time.

The armies arrived. When we saw the flags of our countries we naively believed we were safe. We decided to ask them for help. The two brothers went first. None of them reached their destination. They both fell under friendly fire. Cécile, my little Cécile, tried to go after them. We fail to see when the Third Army arrived. I managed to reach her half way and we ran together to the river. The battle started and we were right in the middle of it.

My wounds were not completely healed, but I was faster, I was bigger, I was stronger. So I lifted her in my arms and ran; ran as I have never run before; incited by fear. The sound of the cannons moved a bit away, but it was still persistent. She was crying clinging to my neck. The river was getting closer; I felt that there we could find some place to hide. I thought that would be enough. I was such a fool! We were almost there, but then something hit my body. A hot little thing went through my back, on my left side. Cécile cried, I tripped and we fell into the muddy shore of the Somme. I knew that pain, I had suffered it some time ago, when she found me almost dead.

My senses were numbed. Unsuccessfully I tried to get up. Gasping like a fish out of water, I could hardly breathe. Then I saw her lying a few feet away from me. I screamed her name, I crawled towards her. She was face down. Her feet half covered by water, her hair completely dispersed. I pulled strength from I do not know where, and set aside the pain. I reached her and turned her around. Her eyes were closed, her body inert. I managed to make her open her eyes and she smiled at me. "You are hurt", she whispered. I tried to play it down; I couldn't understand why she looked so poorly; she only fell from my arms, she just... then, as if something "clicked" in my brain, I placed a hand underneath my ribs, the damn bullet had gone through my body. She did not scream out of fear. She looked at me sadly, and said: "Go! There's nothing else you can do here. Leave me here. The time will come for us to meet again" and she closed her eyes. "No!" I cried, "Wait, please wait; we are safe here on the shore of the Somme", but there was nothing left to do. My little savior, my dear Cécile had died.

Sometime has gone by. My body is now recovered. But my mind, my heart and my soul... for them there is no remedy. Why did I ever have to wish to be a hero? For as much as I have tried, I cannot understand that.

No. I cannot go back home. I am sure that those who grieve my absence will be better off without me, because even when my body is still alive; that day on the muddy shore of the Somme river, with a dead little girl on my arms, the man I was, the man they knew vanished away. He was gone for good. And he will never come back.


End file.
